Chapter 14 Chapter Fourteen Five Questions

"Why do you ask Miss Carroll whether Lord Edgware is likely to remarry?" I asked him curiously as we drove home. "My friend. It just happened to occur to me that there might be such a thing." "why?" "I have been wondering why the Lord of Edgware has changed his attitude at all on the subject of divorce? My friend, that is very strange!" "Yes," I said thoughtfully, "that's a bit odd." "Look, Hastings. Lord Edgware corroborated what his wife said. She had various lawyers to deal with him, but he wouldn't budge. He wouldn't agree to a divorce. But suddenly, he backed down." gone."

"Maybe he's just saying that," I reminded him. "That's right, Hastings, you're right. He's just saying that. Anyway, we have no proof that he wrote that letter. Well, on the one hand, it may be that our light-born is lying .For some reason, he had to tell me 2 some fabricated, exaggerated things. Is it true? Well, we don't know. But assuming he did write the letter. Then he must have a reason for doing it. Now we can imagine an obvious reason, that is, he suddenly met a desirable marriage partner. If so, it can explain his sudden change of attitude. Therefore, it is natural. I will find out."

"Miss Carroll vehemently denies it," I said. "Yes, Miss Carroll—" said Poirot in a thoughtful tone. "What are you trying to say?" I asked urgently. Poirot was good at expressing doubts in a particular tone. "What reason does she have for lying?" I asked. "No, of course not." "But, you see, Hastings, we find it difficult to believe her evidence." "You think she's lying? But why? She seems like a perfectly honest person." "That's why. Sometimes it's hard to tell if you're lying on purpose or just because you don't care."

"What do you mean?" "Deliberate deceit—that's one thing. An honest man is so sure of his actions, his thoughts, and the main facts, that side issues don't matter. You will notice that she has given us Lied once. She said she saw Jane Wilkinson's face when in reality she couldn't see it at all. So why the lie? She looked down and saw Jane Wilkinson walk into the hall without a clue. Doubt. It was Jane Wilkinson that came to her mind. She decided it was her. She said she saw her face clearly—because she was too sure of the facts—and she ignored the details ...judging by the fact that she couldn't see her face at all, did she? But what does it matter if she sees her face? She's subjectively assuming that's Jane. The same goes for any other question ...Anyway, she thought she was sure. So no matter what questions she encountered, she answered according to her own ideas. Not according to the truth she saw. My friend. We have to be cautious about the kind of witnesses who speak too surely. The skeptical attitude. The uncertain witness, the one who is always misrecognized. Or uncertain. The man who has to think before he can answer is far more reliable—yes, it is."

"My God! Poirot," I said, "you have changed my whole conception of witnesses." "When she heard me say whether the Lord of Edgware would remarry, she thought my idea was ridiculous-because she never thought it would happen. She didn't bother to find out. Any hint of that. So we talked to her and didn't know much." "She wasn't surprised when you mentioned that it was impossible for her to see Jane Wilkinson's face," I recall. "Yes, that's why I don't think she's the kind of person who tells a lie on purpose. She's just an upright person who doesn't tell the truth. I really don't see her motive in lying unless it's true. It's an interesting guess."

"What guess?" I asked eagerly. But Poirot shook his head again. "The idea just popped into my head, but it's really unlikely — yes, unlikely." So he said no more. "She seems to like that girl," I said. "Yes, she did try to help the girl when we were talking to her. What's your impression of Miss Geraldine Marsh, Hastings?" "I'm sorry for her — deeply sorry for her." "Hastings, you are always so sympathetic. When beauty is in trouble, you always mourn for it." "Don't you feel the same way?" He nodded solemnly.

"Yes—she's had a miserable life. It's written all over her face." "At any rate," I said enthusiastically, "Jane Wilkinson has said that the girl had something to do with the murder. Look how absurd she is." "There is no doubt that her alibi is valid, but, to date, Japp has not contacted us." "My dear Poirot, you mean to meet her, and after talking with her, you are still dissatisfied with the idea that she is not the murderer, and want to find evidence of her alibi?" "Well, my friend, what was the result of our meeting and talking with her? We found that she had a very unhappy childhood; she admitted that she hated her father and was happy now that he was dead, while she did not know What did her father tell us yesterday. So disturbed. After this conversation. You said you don't need to find her alibi?"

"Her frank attitude can prove her innocence." I said enthusiastically. "Frankness may be said to be the hallmark of their family. The new Lord of Edgware - look at the way he lays it all out on the table." "He really made everything public." I recalled the scene just now and said with a smile. "He's quite original in his approach." Poirot nodded. "He—what are you talking about? We can't go on." "It's making us lose our feet," I corrected. "Yeah—making us look stupid." "What a strange idea. You may look like a fool, but I don't look like that at all. I don't think I look like that. On the contrary, my friend, I've got him down."

"Really?" I said skeptically, as I didn't seem to recall seeing such a sign. "Yeah! Yeah! I listened--just listened. I ended up asking him a whole different question, which, you may notice, bewildered our brave friend. You man, Hastings Always pay attention." "I thought his look of surprise and horror at the news of Carlotta's death was genuine," I said. "I thought you might say he was pretending to be clever again." "Whether it's true, we don't know. But I agree, his expression seems genuine." "Why do you think he gave us the facts in that mocking way? Just for fun?"

"That's always possible. You Englishmen have a peculiar sense of humour. But perhaps he's up to something. The truth is more suspect the more it's hidden, and the less important it is when it's made public." "Like. The argument with his uncle that morning?" "Exactly. He knew it was going to get out sooner or later. So he just made it public." "He's not as stupid as he appears." "Ah! He's not a fool at all. He's very clever, if he uses his brains. He can see his place, didn't I just say? He's got a showdown with us. Hastings, Don't you know how to play bridge? Tell me, when do you do that?"

"You play bridge yourself," I said, laughing, "and you know that well. Showdown when the rest of the cards are yours, and when you want to save time and play another hand. " "Yes, my friend, you are right. But occasionally there are other reasons. I have noticed it once or twice in the past, when I used to play cards with ladies. Perhaps not quite sure, though. Then a lady will Throwing the cards on the table, she said. 'The rest of the cards are mine,' and she put them all away and divided them. Maybe other players agree, especially those who are less experienced. But You have to pay attention, this kind of thing can't be seen immediately, it has to be looked at carefully to find out. Wait until the middle of another round, and some of them may think: "Yes, but she should play the fourth diamond card." Take it, whether she wants it or not, then she'll have to play another club, and I'll get a nine.'” "Do you think--" "Hastings, I think bluffing is a lot of fun. At the same time I think it's time for us to eat. An omelet, please? And then at nine I've got another call. " "where to?" "Let's eat first, Hastings. We won't talk about the case until coffee. While we eat, our brains should feed our stomachs." Poirot kept his word.We went to a little restaurant in Soho where he was a regular.We ate there—a delicious omelet, a plate of sole, a plate of chicken, and wine, Poirot's favorite dessert. As we drank coffee after dinner, Poirot looked at me across the table with a friendly smile. "My good friend," he said. "I depend on you far more than you think." I was both puzzled and flattered by this sudden remark.He'd never said anything like that to me before.Sometimes I secretly feel a little sad because he seems to despise my intelligence. Although I did not think that his own intellect had slackened, it suddenly occurred to me that he was probably more dependent on my help than he knew. "Yes," he said dreamily, "you may not understand it sometimes, but you often show me the way." I could hardly believe my ears. "Really, Poirot?" I stammered. "Poirot, I'm so delighted that I think I've learned something from you." He shook his head. "No, it's not like that, you didn't learn anything." "Oh!" I said rather surprised. "It's a matter of course. No one should learn from another. Everyone should try to make the best of his abilities and not imitate others. I don't want you to be a second Poirot, or a second Poirot. Lo. I want you to be the Supreme Hastings. In fact, you are the Supreme Hastings. Hastings, I think from you. It is almost as good as a person with a normal mind should be. feature." "I hope I'm not abnormal," I said. "No, no. You're pretty normal. Two brains. You're the embodiment of a sound mind. Do you know how important that is to me? When a criminal sets out to commit a crime, his first step is to deceive. Whom is he going to deceive? What? In his mind, he's looking for normal people. Maybe there's no such thing—it's a purely mathematical abstraction. But you've made that abstraction as concrete as possible. You Sometimes there's a moment of superhuman brilliance (I hope you'll forgive me for saying this, and sometimes you get into weird abysses of ignorance. But generally speaking, you've got a surprisingly normal mind. So. How? Will it work in my favor? Simple, that is. I can use you as a mirror, and I can reflect in your mind exactly what the criminal wants me to believe. It is very useful, very informative." I don't quite understand.I don't think Poirot meant it as a compliment at all.But he quickly corrected my impression. "I don't express myself very well," he said quickly. "You have the insight into the criminal, which I don't. You can point out what the criminal wants me to believe. It's a great gift." "Insight," I mused, "yes, maybe I have insight." I looked at Poirot, who sat across the table.He was smoking his little cigarette, looking at me earnestly. "Dear Hastings," he whispered, "I really like you." I am very happy.It was also embarrassing, so I quickly changed the subject. "Come," I said solemnly, "let's discuss the case." "Then." Poirot threw his head back, narrowed his eyes, and slowly exhaled smoke rings. "I just asked myself a few questions," he said. "What?" I asked eagerly. "There is no doubt that you have a problem." "Of course," I said, throwing back my head and squinting my eyes. "For instance, who killed Lord Edgware?" "No" is not a question of this kind.Is that the problem?You seem to be a person who reads a detective novel, mentally guessing the characters in the novel one by one.I admit, times I had to.That was a very special case.I will tell you when I have time in the future.It was an honor to have solved that case.But what were we talking about just now? )” "It's about a few questions you have to ask yourself." I said lightly.I would have blurted out that my real purpose was to be with him so that he would have someone to show off to.But I held back.Since he wants to teach others, let him come. "Go ahead," I said, "I'm all ears." His vanity wanted that too.He leaned back again, returning to his previous attitude. "The first question, we've discussed it. Why has Lord Edgware changed his mind on the divorce? I have a thought or two in my head. You know one of them. "The second question I asked myself was, what happened to that letter? Who wants to keep Lord Edgware and his wife legally together for his benefit? "Thirdly, when you left that study yesterday morning, you looked back and you saw an expression on his face. What does that mean? Hastings, do you have any answer?" I shake my head. "I do not understand." "Aren't you sure you didn't imagine yourself? Sometimes, Hastings, your imagination is very sharp." "No, no," I shook my head vigorously, "I'm sure I read it right." "Okay. So that fact remains to be explained. My fourth question has to do with the pince-nez. Neither Jane Wilkinson nor Carlotta Adams wore spectacles. So why are those spectacles in Carlotta What's in Adams' handbag? "My fifth question: Why did someone call up the receiver. Wilkinson to find out if she was in Ziswick? And who was that person? "My friend, these are some of the questions with which I torture myself. I might feel better if I could answer them. Not even my self-esteem would be able to deduce a theory to explain them." So much damage." "There are other problems," I said. "For example—" "Who sent Carlotta Adams on to play tricks? Where was she about ten o'clock that night? Who was D? Who gave her the golden box?" "The questions are self-evident," said Poirot. "These questions are not subtle, they are things we don't know. They are questions of fact. We can always find the answer. My friend, my question is psychological. On the one hand, it requires the use of brain cells—" "Poirot," I interrupted desperately, I think anyway.I can't let him mention the brain cells anymore, I can't stand him repeating the same old story. "Didn't you say you were going to visit someone tonight?" Poirot looked at his watch. "Yes!" he said, "I'm going to make a phone call first to see if it's convenient." He went to call and came back a few minutes later. "Come on," he said, "—everything goes well." "Where are we going?" I asked. "To Ziswick, Montague. Lord Conner's house. I want to know more about that call."